


Teamwork

by texastoasted



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, we really do love origin stories in this house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 13:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21198680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texastoasted/pseuds/texastoasted
Summary: They have very different styles, but also something in common - they both like to work alone. When they've got to join forces, however, things maybe work out a little too well. A Sniper/Spy pre-team story!!





	Teamwork

**Author's Note:**

> happiest birthday to the love of my life!! hope u enjoy :,)

Gravel pinged off the underside of the camper van as it rolled slowly into the gas station, a cloud of dust in its wake. Mundy let the engine cool before stepping out into the heat, studying the piece of paper that was permanently pinned underneath a  _ Visit Niagara Falls _ magnet on his minifridge. It was a phone number, the one he had memorized but kept around anyway. No one else was at the gas station phone, and Mundy leaned against the wall of the tiny, leaning shop, the tinny dial going only twice before there was an answering “Yes?”

“It’s Mundy,” he replied. 

“You don’t have anything to turn in,” said the bored-sounding voice, who gave him his assignments through these anonymous people with deep pockets and boundless hatred for the poor fuck that was due to be shot that week. “What is it?”

“Is there anything?” Mundy didn’t hold his breath. It had been a slow year, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he was turned away once again. Theoretically, nothing to worry about, he had enough savings to live without working for quite a while, but he liked to keep busy. It was also worrisome to go a long time without anything, prompting thoughts that he or his contacts were about to be pounced upon. His record spoke for itself and he was usually kept occupied, but there was always the chance that someone caught on to his activities.

“There’s something, actually. Just came in with your name on it.”

Mundy’s eyebrows shot upwards. “About time. Let’s hear it.”

“It’s a two-man job.”

Mundy clutched the receiver and closed his eyes, a long, slow breath hissing out of his nostrils. He always worked alone. There was too much potential for wrongdoing if another assassin was brought into the equation. He knew his own skill and could always ensure the job got done. There was no need for conversation or opportunities for backstabbing. 

“Can’t do it by myself?”

“No. Person offering specifically wants you and one other.”

“How much?”

The reward was quoted to him and Mundy let his head fall forward to hit the side of the building with a  _ thunk _ . That was almost what he made with a year of hard work alone. He would be an idiot to pass it up; there was no telling how long this dry spell of contracts could go on for. It wasn’t ideal, but he couldn’t really afford to be picky at the moment.

“Fine. I’ll take it.”

“Noted. Use the Arizona postal box for file pickup. Your partner will be there at noon on the fifteenth.”

Mundy sucked in a breath. That gave him plenty of time to lay awake on the twin mattress and contemplate how he’d already fucked up.

“I’ll be there.” there was a  _ click _ , and the call was over.

He was there, on the fifteenth, van cooling outside of the post office. Mundy had his elbows resting on the steering wheel, chin resting on interlocked fingers. Every person that went in prompted the mental mantra that he couldn’t force away anymore-how, if he had to, get away with their kill. There was also the guessing-game of who his partner was supposed to be. Mundy had long done away with stereotypes of other assassins in the business, particularly after he was turning in a contract at the same pay phone right after an elderly woman that gave him an awful glare. There would be no way to know, of course, until he saw them. Mundy’s gaze flicked back and forth between his watch and the windshield. When it was eleven fifty-five he stepped down from the driver's seat of the camper van and made his way towards the post office. There was little traffic and the employee standing at the cash register looked at him dully. 

Mundy leaned back up against the row of mailboxes, pretending to check his pockets and keeping one eye on the door. He became keenly aware of a man that entered the post office, stood rigid as he surveyed the few customers that were milling about, and then made his way towards Mundy. He had generously thick dark hair that was graying at the temples, and a prominent nose that stuck out like a protruding hull. His mouth was hidden under an impressive beard, cleanly trimmed along his jaw.

“Hello,” he greeted Mundy in a neutral voice. “Are you here to pick up your lost package?”

“Need the other half of the pair.” he answered, immediately disliking the way the other man’s shifty eyes glittered like a snake’s. 

“Two makes a set.”

They regarded each other for a moment before his partner produced a key and deftly unlocked the mailbox, retrieving a stuffed mailing envelope. They didn’t bother to exchange names.

“Should we take this outside?” he offered, and Mundy gave a curt nod in response. One of the gloved hands of his partner held the door graciously, and they walked into the leaning shadow of the post office. A knife was produced from somewhere inside his partner’s jeans, and the envelope was deftly slit open.

“There’s three targets,” the man informed him, and distrust curdled inside Mundy’s stomach like spoiled milk that he already seemed to hold the information about the contract. “I prefer to work alone, but…”

“Me too, mate. How’s this. We each take one and whoever gets the third first takes more of the prize.”

“Fine by me,” his partner answered simply. “I’ll take the mademoiselle. You can have this, I have a copy.”

Mundy sat in his van and watched the other assassin pull out of the parking lot in a nice car. Not too flashy, like he’d seen some newbies have, something that was sure to alert the authorities that there was a sudden amount of cash flow that shouldn’t be there. It was the perfect vehicle that Mundy knew had nice leather interiors and purred like a cat, springing forward with the slightest compression of the gas pedal. Bastard.

When he was parked back in the spot he’d hooked up to for the remainder of his time in Arizona, Mundy finally opened the file, using a steaming mug of coffee to weigh down the corners. There were indeed three targets, two men and one woman, all looking hawkishly at the camera in their previous offender photos. The other assassin was taking the woman, then. Mundy picked what looked like the more difficult of the two men. When there was only one of them left, it would take no time at all. 

The phone seemed to ring for an unusually long amount of time. Mundy drummed his fingers on the edge of the little counter inside the van, chewing on the inside of his lip. He’d been half-making the phone call all afternoon, dialing and then slamming the phone back down in its receiver five seconds in. It sounded like he was about to beg for the bugger’s help. How he wished it was  _ he _ who was being called and consulted for advice, and not the other way around, but his professionalism was winning out in the end. What mattered was the job got done, and the hefty sum being deposited in his offshore account, and him not having to take a job for quite a while if he didn’t want to. It was just one more head, and then it would be over. Mundy hadn’t heard a peep from the other bloke about how his kill was going, but he hadn’t exactly felt like checking in, either. 

“Yes?”

“Hey.” Mundy figured his accent served as enough of an introduction.

“Ah, hello.” 

“Just popped off the first bloke a couple days ago. No rush if you haven’t-”

“Oh, I took care of that a week or so ago,” the assassin said smoothly.

A hot red flush bloomed into Mundy’s cheeks. His fingers gripped the receiver.  _ Bastard _ . He knew it must have been difficult. He’d looked over the kill, to see what he was up against in terms of time, and he’d been absolutely confident he’d have been done first. 

“Anyway. About the third bloke. I…” he shut his eyes. “What’re your thoughts?”

There was a pregnant silence that Mundy was sure the assassin was absolutely relishing. “Are you asking for my help?”

“You haven’t taken care of him either.” 

A moment of hesitation. “I’ve been busy.”

Mundy’s brow creased. A tendril of doubt was starting to work its way through his gut. If he’d been that speedy in the first place, there was no reason to wait, really, not with a contract that had as high of a price tag as this. He must be just as baffled, Mundy realized. Suddenly it was not so difficult to lower himself to the level of asking for assistance.

“Sure, mate. Or you’re just as at a loss as I am.”

“No. I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Well, what’s the plan?” he leaned back in his chair, a smile slowly curling across his lips.

He heard a scoff on the other line. “Why would I tell you?”

“On my honor, mate, I won’t kill him. If he dies you can come and hunt me down yourself, I’ll give you my bloody address.”

Mundy felt quite like the mouse that realized it was able to torment the cat. He decided not to push it any further-the both of them knew that the lie had been caught, and it wouldn’t do any good to embarrass him further when Mundy genuinely wanted his help.

“Maybe we could meet and go over it? If we do it together, probably go faster.”

“Fine,” the assassin consented. “When and where?”

Mundy opened the door of his camper after the prompt knock came, noticing that the assassin concealed his expression of disgust at the small, slight disheveled camper well, but not entirely. He gestured for the man to come inside. The camper was clean, he knew it, but he could tell the bloke was used to living the finer life. It struck him that something was incredibly different about the man, and then it hit him-he was clean-shaven, save for a bit of stubble. His jawline looked carved from stone. Mundy watched him pick a stray hair off of the sleeve of his cashmere sweater.

“Coffee?” Mundy asked him gruffly.

He got a nose wrinkle in response as his visitor took a whiff of the coffee pot. “No, thank you.”

“So what are we gonna do about this bloke? He’s got some of the tightest security I’ve ever seen.”

“Your specialty is sniping, yes? Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

Mundy watched him light a cigarette, cupping the flame from his silver lighter with the palm of his hand. He took a long drag. “Mine is seduction. Infiltration. That isn’t much usage here. There is no way you could pick him off from the rooftop?”

“Scoped it out, mate, trust me. No way. He drives around inside a bloody armored truck and he’s got some top of the line bulletproof glass on that house. Don’t think I can do it that way.”

“I figured as much. I would normally have an array of methods at my disposal, but…” a hand was splayed on the countertop, long fingers arching like a spider. They began to tap. “I must admit I am a bit outsmarted.”

Mundy rubbed his chin and studied the file. “Poison him?”

“All of his food is prepared in-house, and the ingredients thoroughly vetted several hours in advance. He even has a taste tester, I believe, just like a king.”

“Nothing jumped out at me as a way to get close to him.”

“Me either. He is walled in.”

“Probably for good reason. This bastard has a lot of enemies.”

“Mm. Even if I was able to make it inside, he has armed bodyguards everywhere he goes. I am confident I would not make it out alive if I attempted something.”

“So what’s left?”

“I need to figure out a way to kill him in a manner that is possible and delayed, or you need to shoot him in the head from far away.”

“Easier said than done.” Mundy muttered. His gaze lifted from the file to the assassin, who was looking back at him.

“Always is. By the way, I am quite famished and assuming you don’t have anything edible in here, so I am going to go get something to eat. Would you like to join me?”

It was a peace offering, Mundy could recognize that much. 

“Sure, mate. Let’s go.”

There were many options in the town for lunch, but they mutually decided to bring sandwiches back to Mundy’s camper. He had figured the other assassin for a solitary type, just like himself, and it the decision was smoothly reached without many words.

“How’d you get into the business?” he asked, rummaging in the little refrigerator for extra mustard upon request.

“Oh, don’t bother if it’s not dijon. I hardly remember, it’s been so long. I got in some trouble with the government after university, and well, this was a way of repaying the debt…”

Mundy rustled the paper covering his sandwich. A French accent had begun to creep into the other assassin’s voice, which he suspected had been there all along, along with the clean-shaven face under what was possibly an adhesive beard. He studied a piece of lettuce hanging out the side. It wasn’t much unusual in his work to encounter other assassins that were men of mystery, but it had always bothered him, an innate distrust settling on his shoulders like dust. 

“Yourself?”

“Wanted out of ‘oz. Reliable job.”

“It is,” came the agreement from behind a mouthful of baguette.

“You French?” he suddenly asked.

There was a pause. “ _ Oui _ . You were surely not born in Australia.”

“Yep, born and raised.”

The other assassin’s eyebrows shot upwards, but he did not comment on what Mundy knew already, that he looked very much to be lying save for the accent.

Mundy leaned forward to turn on the little radio, and the two of them ate in relative silence, both of their minds on the contract ahead. Mundy, at least, was stumped. He felt like it would surely be easier for his partner to carry out the kill, although they had to figure out how first.

The other assassin wiped his mouth and stood, reaching for the cabinets above the sink. His sweater rose with him, exposing a sliver of pale stomach, crossed with small scars. 

“You must have a clean cup in here somewhere.”

Despite the insult, Mundy grinned. “Nah, sorry, mate. Use mine or sip out the faucet.”

There was a minute before a reply came, and Mundy’s heart seemed to beat loudly inside his chest, drumming with the intention of bursting out of his ribcage. What the hell was happening to him? He didn’t get flustered, nonetheless flustered on the job about someone else.

His partner fished out a clean glass from the very back of the cabinet and shot him a reproachful look.

They decided to meet a few nights a week, going over the blueprints of the house and the same printed schedule they had assembled of the target’s activities. The sessions consisted of them repeating the same information to one another, hoping in vain that it would prompt some sort of idea, working through several packs of cigarettes. Mundy was feeling decidedly unhelpful. He was trying, really, making an effort to be professional, but he swore that his partner could tell and was feeding off of it like a leech. It was little things, things that could easily be defended and excused away if confronted, like his partner sitting so damn close to him their arms were brushing together.  _ There is hardly any room in this camper anyway _ . His partner changing into what he called a ‘cooler fabric’, standing upright and pulling his sweater over his head, gently packed muscles above a belly that was beginning to soften with age.  _ It’s suffocating in this camper.  _ His partner effortlessly remembering what kind of sandwich and chips he liked from the shop, bringing it with him when he was sure Mundy hadn’t eaten.  _ It’s my business to remember things _ . He was seductive without actively trying, effortlessly exuding sex appeal with tousled hair long enough to run fingers through, and intelligent eyes of a dark blue. Mundy knew it was his job, his bloody  _ specialty _ , to seduce people. He was fucking falling for it. Bastard.

“Anything new?” his partner asked one afternoon, settling into his usual chair. He slapped his pockets gently, brow creasing.

“Here,” Mundy said idly, tossing him a new pack of cigarettes from a drawer, the fancy brand that he hadn’t ceased ridiculing the other assassin about. He would get crabby if he didn’t have them, and he had resorted to stocking one of the spare drawers just in case.

His partner’s eyebrows rose for a millisecond. “ _ Merci _ .”

“No, nothing new.” Mundy rubbed his chin and sighed deeply, taking a sip from his steaming coffee. He rummaged through the file as if looking at the pictures in a new order would make something suddenly come to the surface of his mind. They fell into silence, Mundy’s eyes resting slightly out of focus upon one of the blown-up pictures.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, sitting upright. “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“Look at this picture. Who’s this bloke he’s grabby with?”

His partner took the photo from Mundy’s extended arm and studied it. “Hm. Jonas-something, I believe, they work together.”

“Don’t think they just work together, mate.”

They met eyes.

“I think we’d need more photos to be sure. He’s in another picture too, though, awful close.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, could you...y’know…” Mundy trailed off, gesturing to empty air. His partner’s eyes slowly rose, an interested smile prowling across his lips.

“Could I what?”

“I don’t know, seduce him or something? Now that we know that’s an option?”

He expected his partner’s haughty laugh to fill the camper, maybe with a nasally snort or two, but it didn’t come. Cocky bastard.

The assassin cocked his head. “That’s not a bad idea,  _ mon ami _ . But how would I kill him? There is still the problem of me getting away.”

“We just gotta make it look like it wasn’t you. All you would need to do is get him outside, and then…” Mundy made a shooting-gun motion with his fingers. “Off goes his head. Easier than trying to fiddle around with stabbing him with a poison dart or something.”

His partner sat forward in his chair, elbows perched on his knees. He gazed out the window absently. “Yes, all right. That could work. Leave me with some time to figure out a way in.”

“What about that party, the one coming up that we’d scrapped because we still didn’t have a way to kill him?”

“ _ Oui _ , that could work. I should still be able to contact that guard for a guest pass. I assume he still does not want the tape of him cheating on his wife to reach her.”

“Brilliant, mate. Keep me updated, yeah? I’ll go and get some fresh surveillance tonight as well.”

His partner nodded, rising to his feet with a pleased smile. “Excellent. I will see you later, then.”

Mundy, busy rinsing the remnants of his coffee in the sink, did not notice that the other man was lingering at the door of the camper, watching him.

They had decided to make their move at the party, guest pass acquired from a blackmailed bodyguard. Mundy, parked next to an aptly placed water tower that would give him a good vantage point, started when a sharp rapping announced someone outside the camper door.

“How do I look?” his partner asked smoothly, stepping in to the camper. He was wearing a suit that Mundy could tell was more expensive than anything he’d ever owned, finely tailored and an alluring midnight blue. His hair was pulled back as always, but an errant tendril fell across his forehead, above those sturdy blue eyes that matched the suit and a clean-shaven face. He was wearing cologne, Mundy could tell, and it smelled annoyingly alluring. He could tell that the bastard was proud of himself, that he knew he looked good and really didn’t need another compliment. Mundy swallowed.

“Great,” he admitted, his eyes on the lines of the assassin’s tie against his crisp, white, pressed shirt. 

There was silence where the smell of cologne filled the space between them and Mundy listened to his heart drumming against his chest.

“This is it, then. Are you ready?”

Mundy gestured jerkily towards his selected rifle, freshly cleaned and oiled, leaning against the fridge. “All ready.”

“I just need the earpiece,” his partner reminded him.

His palms were sweating. “Oh. Yeah.” Mundy fumbled with it on the counter. “Do you want me to-”

“Go ahead,” came the smooth, easy, unruffled reply, and his partner stepped to the side, turning his face to the side. Mundy gently inserted the flesh-colored earpiece and just before his fingertips were pulled back his partner reached behind his head with one hand, pulling out the hair tie. Mundy froze at the sudden movement before kicking himself and reaching to gently tug some pieces of hair over his ear.

“All ready,” he managed. “Got mine in.”

His belly was protected from the cold metal of the water towel with a bundled blanket, but chill was still creeping in under the back of his shirt. Mundy ignored the feeling of gooseflesh and adjusted the stock of the rifle pressing into his shoulder, keeping the gun carefully aimed at the backyard. Through the scope he could see the party going on, people mingling and champagne classes glinting in the light. He could hear it, too, the smooth conversation that was easily flowing out of his partner’s mouth. Mundy could tell he hadn’t locked on to their target yet, but it was alluring listening to a master at work.

_ There _ . He could see through his scope a small grouping of bodyguards breaking into the living room, and there was an excited murmur in conversation. Hopefully his partner had had enough time to warm up his seduction skills.

Mundy’s fingers reflexively gripped the barrel of the rifle tighter when he heard his partner lock on. The target was nervous to talk to him, Mundy could tell, but his partner easily smoothed over the awkwardness and insecurities and flattered him just enough. There were several things said that made him roll his eyes, but evidently, it was working. They had been talking for about an hour, Mundy half-tuning out, when he heard something that made him snap to attention.

“Are you here alone?”

“You could tell?” his partner asked jokingly, smoothy adopting an American accent that now sounded foreign to Mundy’s ears. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I just can’t imagine you’re really alone.”

“I am,” came the reply, and Mundy could imagine the faux embarrassed smile. “Honestly, I haven’t been able to hold a relationship with anyone else after I saw your picture in the paper.”

“Oh. Well.”

“But I know it’s in vain. Surely, you’re not-”

“I am single.” came the hurried, painfully eager reply. There was a moment of silence, and Mundy grinned.  _ Took the bait _ .

“I don’t believe you!”

“Well, you know, I don’t get outside much…”

“Of course. I understand. I might have to get outside myself, though, I’m feeling very flushed. You have to stop looking at me that way.”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to…”

He heard his partner’s laugh, warmness masking the chance Mundy knew he had found. “Well, it happened nonetheless. I’ll be in the backyard, if you don’t mind. It’s so lovely out there with the lights.”

Mundy followed him with the scope, flicking back and forth between the target and the secluded backyard. The man was hesitating, leaning forward like he was following a smell, and then suddenly, brilliantly, he hurried forward like he was afraid his catch would disappear. 

“I hope you are ready,” came through Mundy’s earpiece suddenly.

“I’ve-watch your back, love,” Mundy told him suddenly, interrupting himself, his eyes on a guard the size of a tree trunk approaching.

The assassin graciously let himself be pat down and examined. When he was cleared, the sliding glass door slid open, and the two of them were gloriously alone, save for the guards milling around that were temporarily satisfied their client’s eye candy wasn’t going to whip out a knife.

“I’m glad you decided to join me.” his partner turned towards the water tower in the distance, and Mundy readied his shot.

“Well, it is quite nice outside…”

“Yes, it is truly lovely, but not as lovely-”

“I wanted to ask,” their target suddenly interrupted, and Mundy heard his partner’s flirtations die in his throat, “how my agent knows you.”

“She doesn’t,” came the smooth, unruffled answer. “I’m friends with one of your guards, Michel. He was able to get me a pass after I expressed my wishes to meet you. I hope that’s okay, I wouldn’t want him to get into any trouble.”

“Michel is already in trouble, I hear,” came the answer, and Mundy’s heart stilled in his chest. “What is he paying you? Does he have something on you?”

“He’s not paying me. I-”

“I know he wants me dead. He’s paying you to talk to me or something while he poisons my food or something, oh God-” Mundy saw with mounting frustration that the target was walking in errant circles, hands over his face. The guards were beginning to step forward out of concern.

“Please, calm down.” Mundy’s partner assured him. “There’s no such plot.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. Just tell me your part in it.”

There was a strangled noise, and Mundy saw with alarm that the target had his arm around his partner’s throat, a knife clasped in his fist. Mundy was sure his partner could get out of it, but he would easily blow his cover. The guards were looking amongst each other, unwilling to intervene.

“I assure you, I’m not-”

“Stop lying to me!” The man cried, tightening his grip and digging the little blade of the knife into his partner’s throat. A small dot of blood appeared and began to run down his neck. “I-”

The target’s head exploded in a spray of red mist, droplets coating the back of the assassin’s head, and the corpse crumpled to the ground. Mundy saw his partner blink, hard, as if he was forgotten Mundy was up there with a gun, and back away. The guards were on the dead body in an instant, hollering into their radios, and Mundy was flying down the ladder of the water tower and into his van, foot pressing the gas pedal down as far as it would go. 

“I thought you had forgotten about me for a second,” his partner commented, in the little shower of the camper, above the sound of the water spray. Mundy was sitting at the little table, cleaning his rifle. “And then I wished you wouldn’t get nervous and be rash.”

“ _ Rash _ . I knew I could make the shot, mate.”

“Yes, well. I learned my lesson not to doubt you.”

Under the curtain, Mundy watched the bloody water running down the drain.

“You saved my life. Thank you, is what I mean to say.”

“You’re welcome.” he answered, genuinely. “We make a good team, eh?”

“ _ Oui _ . Never thought I would admit it, bushman.”

The shower spray squeaked off, suddenly, and Mundy tossed a towel over the metal pole that hung the curtain. “Here.”

“Thank you. Shame this shower is so tiny.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m sure you’re grimy too,” the assassin tutted.

Mundy froze, a flush spreading over his cheeks. He willed away its presence. God, he wished it wasn’t working on him, but it was, even though the other man wasn’t really trying that hard, because he must have caught on that he was Mundy’s type, if he had a type, and would take advantage of it until the day that they parted. He was tired of feeling like a bloody bashful schoolboy.

“We could get a hotel,” he found himself saying, and there was a moment where the only sound was water dripping off the shower curtain, and then it was ripped open with a squeak from the metal rings.

“Are you serious?”

“I-” his cheeks flushed even deeper. “Are you?”

“Why would you think the copious amounts of hints I have been dropping have not been serious?”

“Because...mate, because you seduce people for a living! I’ve been unsure if you’re fucking with me or not!”

“All right, fair.” the assassin conceded, stepping out of the shower with merely the towel around his waist. “But I assure you I have not been fucking with you. It’s not often I genuinely like someone, I thought you could tell.”

“Well...all right, then,” Mundy said defensively, scratching the back of his head

“How about that hotel? But first, dinner, I am craving that baguette sandwich and a cigarette.”

“My bed’s perfectly fine,” he objected good-naturedly, “Why-”

“Fine is a generous word. But that’s beside the point. We have completed the contract, why not spend the money on a hotel with a hot tub and room service?” 

Mundy paused. “You’ve got a point, love.”

ONE YEAR LATER

Mundy parked his camper van outside of the sprawling New Mexico base, taking his time to plant each boot in the shifting dust of a dead land. It was the first time he’d taken on a job like this, ongoing mercenary work, highly classified and highly paid. It was a team environment, too, which he was honest about not having much experience with, but his new employer didn’t seem too concerned. He hadn’t ever thought he’d be on the front lines fighting a war when he started taking assassin work, but he was after the paycheck, just like the rest of them.

A piece of paper fluttered down from the footwell of his van, and stooping down, Mundy picked it up. It was a hotel receipt from about a year ago, the one keepsake he’d had of a certain contract, and it had someone made its way from being pinned inside the van to underneath his shoe. He’d lost contact with the unnamed assassin, unwillingly-shortly after their contract ended he was pulled back to a top-secret job in France, not allowed to write any letters or make any phone calls. He had said he had another job queued up after that that would probably allow him to write and make phone calls. A mental picture of the calender put up on his little fridge filled his mind. It would be about that time he’d said the job would end, and anticipation fluttered in Mundy’s stomach. Mundy was surprised, himself, that the French assassin had stayed on his mind all year long-what he was up to, if he was safe, if he had gotten into any sticky situations that a sniper could take care of for him and save his life. Wondering, too, if he had been remembered. In a way he doubted it, but there was still that small, vain hope that his memory was still alive in his old partner’s mind.

Mundy turned and put the receipt back on the dashboard of the van, and behind him, there was the rumble of an insanely loud engine.

Irritated, he turned, the reflection of the boiling sun overhead off the bright and shiny blue paint of the car almost blinding him. The sports car pulled into the spot next to his, growling unnecessarily, and Mundy rolled his eyes behind his glasses, casting a final disapproving glance at the bastard before heading inside and out of the head.

The dust, roused by the vehicles going in and out, settled, and a smooth blue head turned towards him, the masked man wearing a rather bored expression behind a pair of fancy sunglasses. Mundy hesitated when he saw the man’s jaw drop, and then his lips curl up in a smile.

“Hello again, bushman,” was called in his direction. 

“Sorry, have we met?” he asked gruffly, the shadow of his hat long across his face.

The sunglasses were removed, and then there was a pair of intelligent, snakelike blue eyes glittering at him like river stones from underneath the mask, and while his accent was thicker, it was a smile that he knew, one that had been pressed against his own for far too short of a time. 

“Bloody hell,” Mundy shouted at him. “I wasn’t sure I’d see or hear from you again!”

“Here I am, fresh off a plane. I am very glad to see you.” the assassin came up to him, and Mundy flushed bright red, unsure if he should kiss him or hug him or shake his hand. His fingers were taken, gently, and wrapped in the hold of a leather glove, and the assassin tenderly raised Mundy’s hand to his cheek, stubble rough under the sniper’s fingertips.

“At least we know we make a good team, hm?”

“Can’t wait, mate,” Mundy answered, and was glad that the brim of his hat hid the both of their faces brought together.

  
  
  
  



End file.
